


Bullet in the Barrel

by gothicauthor



Category: Dollhouse, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Gen, Mindfuck, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:25:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1291246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothicauthor/pseuds/gothicauthor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Othello has nightmares. There's always something burning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bullet in the Barrel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afterism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterism/gifts).



> I am officially the worst; I know this. But I did promise [](http://users.livejournal.com/_afterism/profile)[](http://users.livejournal.com/_afterism/)**_afterism** a Dollhouse crossover, so here it is.
> 
> Her amazing art post is [here]().
> 
> It does, unfortunately, help a lot if you're already familiar with the Dollhouse universe. I can't think of any specific knowledge that would help if you don't know the premise—or rather, I can think of too many to list. But if you have any questions, feel free to ask, and if it's not a spoiler, I'm happy to explain. :)

He wakes.

Or. Maybe? He isn't sure. It doesn't feel like he was sleeping. He's kind of tired, and his limbs are heavy, overused. But he just opened his eyes in this chair, so he probably dozed off without realizing.

There is a kind face looking down on him—smiling. He has never seen this man before, but he trusts him, feels it all the way down to his bones like a warm drink on a cold night, like instinct. It seems like a strange instinct to have, but the owner remains a respectful distance away, careful not to crowd him, and he has dimples, which are pretty. Friend, he decides.

"Hello, Othello," the man says. "How are you feeling?"

Othello. He tries the name out. It tastes right. "Did I fall asleep?" he asks.

"For a little while," the man replies.

Sleeping is important, and naps are nice. "Shall I go now?" he asks.

The man smiles again. "If you like."

Othello nods and rolls slowly out of the chair. He steps out of the laboratory into the office, which is cluttered with wires and stacks of paper and empty coffee cups. Another man sits slouched in front of a bevy of computer screens, but whirls around at the sound of the door opening.

He smiles, too, but it is sharp and a little strange. Othello isn't sure what it means.

"Hey, there, Othello. How's it going?"

"Fine," he answers, smiling tentatively in response. "I'm going to swim in the pool."

"That sounds fun," the computer man says, grin growing even wider. "And wet. And drippy."

"I swim 30 laps a day," Othello explains. "It helps me be my best."

"It sure does." Computer man stares a little longer before cheerfully waving him on.

As the office doors slide closed behind him, he hears a low whistle, followed by a soft mutter. "Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave."

He doesn't know what that means, either.

He does know how to swim, though.

\--

Dinner is chicken and asparagus and very delicious. He sits alone. There used to be someone who would sit with him, a friend, but she left for an engagement and never came back. He doesn't know why, but he feels sure that she will never come back again.

It makes him sad. No one else is pack here, and he doesn't like being all by himself.

Later that night, he curls into his pod. He's never shared it with anyone else, but the House feels emptier without pack in it.

He stares at the smoky white cover as it slides over his head, and then he falls asleep.

\--

There is a new Active the next day. He sleeps in the pod next to Othello's, and the handlers call him Romeo. He has dark hair and brown skin, and his jaw is a little crooked. But he smells familiar, and something in Othello lights up at the recognition.

They keep Romeo in Dr. Martin's office all morning, and then Othello can't find him until just before lunch, when he sees him in yoga class.

He pulls Romeo aside afterwards, before he can leave.

"You smell like me," Othello tells him, feeling strangely urgent about sharing the information. "Like pack. We're brothers."

Romeo stares at him wonderingly with wide eyes, but he nods a little bit like he feels it, too. "I like having brothers," he says trustingly, and Othello feels a swell of happiness.

"Let's go eat lunch together," he suggests, and Romeo smiles and nods, his eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes Othello smile, too.

\--

They eat together very often. It is very nice to have pack again.

\--

One day, a handler stops him on the way to the running machine. "Othello, can you come with me, please?"

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

"Dr. Martin would like to talk to you," the handler explains, which is strange, because he doesn't hurt anywhere. Dr. Martin gives him pretty candy when he visits, though, so he doesn't mind going to see her.

When he gets to her office, it takes him a moment to realize that it won't just be Dr. Martin talking to him. There are four other men crowded around the examination table, and all of them are staring at him with their arms crossed.

"Hello, Othello," Dr. Martin says. "How are you?"

"I feel fine," he answers. He turns to the four staring men. "Hello."

"Hello, Othello," says the one with the kind face, from before. "You seem to be getting along very well with Romeo."

"Yes," he says. "He smells nice."

They all look at each other as if he's said something interesting.

"What do you mean by that?"

"He smells like pack," Othello answers honestly, and all four of the men startle.

"How is that even possible?" the tall one asks the others. His eyes are blue and ice cold. Othello doesn't like him very much. "The last Hale Alpha was Laura, and she—"

He stops suddenly, and they all stare at each other again. The dark-skinned man frowns. "Peter."

Dr. Martin turns very white. "Peter?" she demands. "You told us he'd been taken care of! How can he be turning new betas?"

The fourth man—computer man, Othello remembers—glances at him, eyes sharp and considering, like before. "How about we take this upstairs," he says, nodding toward Othello, and Dr. Martin whips around as if she had forgotten that he was there.

"Yes," she says. "Of course. I'm sorry, Othello." She takes the can of candy from her desk and offers it to him. "Would you like one?"

"Yes, thank you," he says, pleased. He takes a red candy because the color makes him feel safe, and twirls the plastic stem in his fingers. He hops off the table at the dismissal and goes to find Romeo, to share his treat.

\--

A blonde woman arrives at the House, and Othello doesn't like her at all.

She seems to be the tall man's friend. They walk around together all the time, and she talks to him a lot and calls him Chris. She calls him other names, too, like goodie-two-shoes and old man. Chris doesn't seem to like her very much, either, but he still eats lunch and dinner with her every day, like clockwork.

The blonde woman is called Kate, and everyone seems very nervous when she comes by. She makes Othello nervous, too, and hurt and a little bit angry, even though she never speaks to him directly.

He does hear her sometimes, though, talking to someone else. It doesn't sound like anyone in the house. The voice is old, measured, fragile with human age. He always says, "Who's my brave girl?" and Kate always says, "I'll get it done."

\--

She sees him listening, maybe, because one day, Kate corners him at the art station when none of the handlers are paying attention.

"Hello, Derek," she says. She stands across the table from him, but it still feels too close. She's very pretty, and she's smiling at him, but something in her eyes makes him feel very small and a little like sheep, even though he's not a sheep, he's a wolf.

"That's not my name," he tries. Maybe she has mistaken him for someone else. He doesn't know anyone named Derek in the House, but maybe it's a new handler.

"Oh, yeah. That's right. What are they calling you now? Othello?" She settles down until she's looking him in the face, and Othello thinks that she is really too close to him. "You are kind of a tragic figure, aren't you? Honestly, I would've pegged you for more of an Ophelia myself."

Kate leans in even closer. He wishes he could be running right now, in the woods above ground, where they take them every month to greet the moon. If he were running, he wouldn't be here with her.

"All alone in the world, now that big sister's gone. And your big, bad wolf uncle did it for me. I didn't even have to lift a finger. Well, don't worry," she whispers, like she's sharing a secret with him. "I'll take care of Peter, and then I'll be back for you. And you'll be with your family again. Isn't that what you want?"

Othello doesn't know what she means. He doesn't know what she means, he doesn't know what she means.

"My name is Othello," he whispers back.

Kate laughs, delighted, but at least she's standing. She ruffles his hair with one hand, fingers trailing against his scalp, and then she walks away in her high, high boots.

Othello looks down at his picture. There is half a house against a blue sky and green forest, but he doesn't feel like finishing it now.

\--

"Are you okay?" Romeo asks him at dinner, but Othello shakes his head and doesn't say anything.

\--

That night, he dreams of fire.

He wakes up hot and sweating and scared.

\--

Computer man fusses around Othello's head—"For tests," he'd said, a little manic, fingers fluttering between the wires like birds—and then the screens around them light up with wiggling lines of all different colors that move across like waves.

"Everything looks normal. Tabula rasa, as requested." He eyes Othello critically. "How are you still hot in the middle of a brain exam?"

"Stiles!" says the other man, who looks annoyed.

"Danny!" says Stiles in the same tone, but his voice is sharp again.

"I think the temperature is fine," Othello says, to reassure both of them. He isn't sure why they seem to be arguing, because the room feels just like the rest of the House.

Stiles grins at him. "You're so sweet," he coos before turning back to the screens. "Find anything in the logs?"

Danny rolls his eyes but looks back at his computers. "Not at all. They're totally clean. How is it even possible for Dolls to have nightmares? Every memory gets mapped and wiped. Do you think it could be the other half?"

"Maybe," says Stiles. "The wolf might have a deeper, more ingrained sense of memory, a primal fight or flight reaction. But he's never exhibited signs of abnormal sleep behavior before, even after you-know-what, and even if it is in his supernatural wolfy brain, something must have triggered it."

Othello closes his eyes and settles back in the chair, happy to let the sounds of Stiles and Danny chatting wash over him. He's tired. Maybe because he had nightmares. The chair always seems to be a good place to rest. Stiles and Danny won't mind.

He's dozing a little bit when the door opens and the telling clack of heels announces the new entrant. Sure enough, when he opens his eyes, it's Kate in the doorway.

"I heard you guys had an interesting case," she says, eyes locking onto him with something hungry in them. "Thought I should sit in."

Something feels like it's trying to claw its way out of him, but it's wrong. He doesn't like it. Othello grits his teeth and bites it down as hard as he can.

Dimly, he hears the equipment start beeping as Danny-with-the-dimples swears at his station. "Elevated heart rate, blood pressure rising. Stiles—"

Stiles swings around to Kate, who raises an eyebrow at him. "Can you go grab Dr. Martin, please, and tell her to bring a sedative?"

"I'm not your gopher," she snipes, but she leaves, anyway, lingering around the doorway before finally slipping around the corner.

The world opens up again slowly as she goes. The beeping starts dying down.

Othello breathes.

Stiles closes the door after her and turns the lock until it clicks into place. "Well, that wasn't suspicious at all," he says.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" says Danny.

But Stiles is already busy staring, fixed, at one of the monitors. It's mostly red and orange and yellow, like fire. Othello takes another deep breath.

"Pretty sure you don't have to be a neurobiologist to decipher all that," Danny continues, arms crossed.

"Yeah, I don't believe in coincidences." Stiles turns his sharp, intelligent face to Othello. "What did she do to you?" he murmurs gently. "Is this why Deaton has you on lockdown?"

Othello breathes.

"Can I go running now?" he asks.

\--

Othello wakes. He's in a chair.

It doesn't feel like he was sleeping. He's tired, though.

There is a kind face looking down on him, a little tense and pale but still smiling. His brown eyes are sharp but warm, luminous. He has never seen this man before, but he trusts him.

"Hello, Othello," the man says. "How are you feeling?"

Othello. He tries the name out. "Did I fall asleep?" he asks.

"For a little while," the man replies.

Sleeping is important. "Shall I go now?" he asks.

The man nods. "If you like."

Othello nods and gets out of the chair. He steps out of the laboratory into the office. There are clutters of wires and paper and coffee cups. Another man smiles at him, with pretty dimples, but doesn't say anything.

\--

"You smell like pack," he tells the Active named Romeo, and Romeo grins back at him, friendly and earnest. Othello likes Romeo, he decides.

"Thank you," Romeo replies. "Would you like some broccoli?"

\--

There is a blonde woman in the House who makes him nervous. Othello sees her staring at him a lot, but she doesn't come near him.

The tall man named Chris takes her away when she stares too long.

\--

Romeo goes away a lot, and so do the other Actives; Tatiana and Oberon and Viola. They come back as different people sometimes, in different clothes, and the way they talk get strange. Sometimes, they just make sounds.

Othello doesn't go anywhere, so he swims, or runs. He also likes cutting up the little trees in their little pots. He likes helping to make them their best. And the snipping sound is pleasing.

He doesn't like painting, though, because all he can see when he tries is red and black, and it smells like smoke and burning, so he doesn't like those colors.

\--

Othello likes massages, too, because they're very nice and relaxing. It's easier to be his best when he's relaxed.

He's leaving just as the blonde woman walks in, and he holds the door open for her as she goes, because it's a best kind of thing to do.

\--

It's quiet and peaceful at the bottom of the pool, meditative. There's nothing to disturb him under the water, and he enjoys the calm isolation of it.

It takes him a minute to remember to breathe, but once he does, he finds that he can't move, muscles locked in stillness. He holds his breath as long as he can, but soon, he's opening his mouth to choke, not on water, but on emptiness; stuck gulping down mouthfuls of nothing that become the heavy sting of burning ash, the thick, acrid scent of melting plastic and metal. He's standing in the middle of a burning building, but he's still frozen, and even though the flicker of flame seems to be avoiding him, the heat feels hot enough to blister.

He can't hear the screaming at first, but suddenly, it's there, a loud echo, far away, somewhere he can't reach.

\--

He wakes.

The white cover on his pod has been slid back, and Stiles is leaning over him, hand gripping his shoulder and shaking it. Dr. Martin peers over his shoulder, lipstick bright against her pale face.

Othello blinks, surprised to find tears on his cheeks.

"Who's Derek?" he asks.

\--

He wakes.

His head feels fuzzy and thick, slow, like syrup.

There are voices around him, talking in bursts of furious sound.

"He's glitching," someone hisses. "Clearly, the wipes aren't working."

"Program says they are."

"Then the program is wrong!"

"Excuse me, who's the actual programmer with two PhDs again? Oh, yeah, not you. So why don't you back off. We're looking into it."

"Looking into it? This has been going on for _months_ , and you haven't managed to fix anything."

"Jesus Christ, Lydia, will you stop trying to tell me how to do my job? What we do here is a complex science that is complicated by specific bits of extraordinary biology like, oh, I don't know, supernatural healing, so don't presume that we're not doing our best up here, because we are. And anyway, Deaton is fully aware, so I don't understand why you've got your panties in a twist."

"He's in _pain_ —"

"Heeeeey, there, buddy." Othello opens his eyes. A man looks down on him, smiling a little too hard, teeth gleaming aggressively.

"Hello, Othello," he says. "How are you feeling?"

His head feels stuffed and tight, like there's something under his skull that will come bursting out if he waits long enough. When the chair starts tilting him upright, the pressure spikes, and he winces and groans. The bright lights make his eyes water.

Othello shakes his head to clear it, but it just feels worse, like there is heavy water sloshing around. "Did I fall asleep?"

"For a little while." The man sets a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. "You okay?"

"My head hurts," he says.

A redheaded woman shoves the man aside and gives him a tight smile. "I'm Dr. Martin, Othello. Why don't you come with me, and we'll get you something for that headache. All right?"

Othello glances at the man, whose brows have dropped downward, until his face is more scary than kind. "Yes, why don't you go with Dr. Martin," he says. It doesn't sound like a suggestion.

"Will I be my best again?"

"I'll do _my_ best," says Dr. Martin, still glaring over his head. "We'll have you right as rain in no time."

\--

The headache goes away for the most part, even though it lingers a little in the corners of his mind.

"Are you okay?" Romeo asks him with concern. He says this at least once a day, and his expression never changes.

"Nothing serious," Othello reassures him, which is true. Romeo looks suspicious, though, and seems like he's going to say something else when they both notice the blonde woman watching them from the corner.

The pain spikes, feels like something is trying to drill its way into his left temple. Romeo frowns and moves to block the blonde from view.

"Come on. I'll walk with you to Dr. Martin."

\--

Dr. Martin gives him a little red pill that tastes like chalk, and he swallows it with a cup of water.

"Why don't you go for a swim," she suggests.

"I'll do that," he tells her.

He's already turning to go when she stops him with a hand on his arm. Dr. Martin offers him a can with brightly colored candy, and he takes a blue one.

\--

The swimming pool is empty when he dives in. Othello does thirty laps and feels better afterwards, enjoys the peace and quiet of being alone in the water.

He's just finished with his shower, when a blonde woman finds him in the changing room.

"Derek," she says. When Othello tilts his head in confusion, she grins, lowers dark lacquered lashes at him. "Oh, right… Othello."

"Hello," he responds, by rote.

"Look at you," she purrs, drawing long-nailed fingers across his chest, stroking down his sides. He wants nothing more than to curl away from her seeking hands. "You sure grew up pretty."

"I try to be my best," says Othello.

The woman laughs, delighted. "I'll just bet you do."

She stalks around him, looking him down, then up, then down again. Her appraisal makes him feel hunted, but he stands as still as possible. He doesn't know her name, but he knows that sudden movements would be a bad, bad idea right now, in her presence.

"Awww, sweetheart. What's the matter?" She runs a hand through his hair in a gentle, cloying caress, stares up at him with big blue eyes. "Wolf got your tongue?"

The snarl comes out from somewhere deep inside him. Othello is startled by his own reaction, but the woman just laughs again, runs her hands down his chest again.

"What do you say we go for one last hurrah," she coos, "just for old time's sake." Her fingertips sneak under the folds of his towel, and he feels her touch like a cold shock. "Our little secret."

He doesn't really understand what she's doing, but there's something about her that sits on the tip of his tongue, and he can't seem to get it out. There are so many things about her on the tip of his tongue.

She pulls his towel away until he's shivering, naked, and then she pushes at him until he's lying on the cool tiles. She crawls over him and grins down at him, sharp and white.

"Are you still my big boy?" she says, and maybe it's a mistake, but it unlocks something within him, somewhere, and finally, he knows how to reply.

"Who's my brave girl?" he asks her. It doesn't make sense, but the words feel right.

"I'll get it done," she says automatically, before her expression shutters, goes hard and absent. She stares at him for another moment, and then she's disappearing into the shadows.

\--

That night, he sleeps, and doesn't dream at all.

\--

When Derek wakes up, it's still dark, and Peter is grinning down at him.

"Welcome back, nephew," he says, eyes glowing alpha red.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, that's the end, hahaha. Sorry for ending on a cliffhanger! I tried to write the next portion, but it literally read like a completely different story, since it's from a completely different perspective, so I thought it best to leave the ending where it currently is.
> 
> Long story short, I bit off more than I could chew with this premise, especially with RL kicking my ass... The idea for it made so much sense in my head, but I didn't count on how much Dollhouse really relies on visuals as almost a plot device, and how hard that would be to translate effectively into text without writing at least fifty chapters.
> 
> Anyway, I hope the through line of this all made sense. And thanks to _afterism again for her art, which inspired this madness, and also to my beta Hilz, who was completely indispensable and gave me the best points without even having seen Dollhouse.


End file.
